


Gypsy Rose

by Serenitychan13



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, F/M, Gypsy, Knights - Freeform, Renaissance Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitychan13/pseuds/Serenitychan13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your basic damsel-in-distress story, but read anyway! A knight finds a fleeing Gypsy collapsed in a wood outside of town and brings her home to take care of her. Oh, for heaven's sakes, you know where this is going!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gypsy Rose

                In the early evening descending on the English countryside, large, dark purple clouds began to close in. Gusts of wind bent the treetops in all different directions as they roared along. Nearly anyone out of doors picked up on the signs of the impending thunderstorm and hurried to wrap up activities. Remaining on the dusty path that passed for a road, though, a knight in amethyst and silver continued to ride. From the back of his horse, he acknowledged the nods and waves of the people he passed. For his part, he enjoyed the tumultuous skies and energy on the wind. In his mind, the sooner it rained the better. Lucian, the deep black-brown charger, tossed his head, agreeing with his master, it seemed.

                The pair continued down the road towards the wood ahead. Houses and fences petered away to occasional sheds and large fields. This particular forest stood between this village, himself, and his home in Idlewild. Sir Gareth urged Lucian on, his mind at ease as the trees took some impact from the wind off of them. Off in the distance, they could hear the rumble of heavy thunder. Lucian flipped his ears round at the noise, but continued amiably forward. On they rode, barely taking more than common notice of the surrounding wood. Rarely, one might encounter bandits or other ruffians on this road, but none would be so stupid as to bother the “prince” of Idlewild!

                Within the hour, the winds had picked up nearly to gale-force, assaulting the tops of the trees. Along with the fat, cold raindrops, bits of falling branches descended upon the knight and his steed. It had not yet become dangerous to travel, but the last rays of sun illuminating the violet sky did threaten. Surely no one without benefit of several layers of armor and padding would be out in this, thought Sir Gareth. Lucian made an aggravated noise and flicked the wet leaves and water drops off his nose. If it were up to him, they would get off the road and cool their heels for a bit. Both of them itched, soaked to the skin. Undeterred, knight and steed pressed on through the swirling wind, grateful for the thickening tree cover.

                Soon, rain fell in steady, nearly relaxing sheets. The wind changed direction, bringing with it the warmth of summer. Now, with the thunder as a percussive addition, booming at regular intervals, and the following flashes of lightning, the storm became musical. Invisible to their eyes, the sun quietly faded away and the moon took its place. Its light and the stars with it illuminated the dripping clouds from above. Though visibility reduced to only three meters forward, neither Gareth nor Lucian felt need for concern. They kept moving, enjoying the solitude in the rainy summer night.

 

* * *

 

 

                A tiny figure dashed frantically in the opposite direction. Could she still hear them behind her? Truly, she could not tell, and she had not the heart to pause. Even if she could have glanced behind her, the rain blocked nearly everything from view. The Gypsy only continued to run through the rainy forest. It had been all she could do to get away in the first place, so her mind directed her to do nothing but push forward. How long had she even been running? The vague thought ghosted through her head, and she had no answer for herself. That first break of somewhat-coherent contemplation, however, brought other things to the forefront of her consciousness.

                Her lungs burned, legs ached, and she could no longer feel her face or hands at all. It started occurring to her how rapidly exhaustion could set in. Never in her life had she been a runner in any capacity but occasional sprinting! Surely, she dashed faster than greased lightning when it came to evading the constables or knights of the realm. It came with the traditions of her people, knowing when and how to disappear. A mouse could not retreat to his hole faster than a Gypsy could vanish from sight! However, her body had never experienced this kind of draining exertion before. She still felt the same overwhelming fear, but the adrenaline keeping her going had started to ebb away in her veins.

                The Gypsy finally dashed one bare foot against a large rock jutting out of the dirt road, awash in rainwater. She stumbled but did not fall. That disturbance, however, provided a significant loss of momentum. Her steps became less sure until she finally tripped to a halt. Over the rain, she could not tell if her attackers had pursued her so far in to the wood – no sight nor sound of help reached her. Rotating on the spot, she strained the limits of her vision and hearing… Next moment, though, a rush of pain nearly blinded her, buckling her knees as well. Literally and figuratively speaking the impact of the attack hit her all at once. Before she could even become reasonably aware of it, tears rolled with raindrops down her face. As her lungs forced all the breath out of her chest, she doubled over and collapsed to the muddy ground.          

                Drawing her knees in close to her chest, the lone Gypsy cried in silence as the pain soaked into every nerve in her body like the water into her clothing. Everything in her that drove her to survive would not allow her to close her eyes. She so desperately wanted to – maybe it could block out the assault on her small body. Nevertheless, she had to keep her eyes open, to see potential threats or anyone who could help her. When nothing came in the next few moments, desperation let her eyes close. More time passed; how much, she did not know, but distantly she could almost swear that she heard hoofbeats.

                Sir Gareth continued guiding Lucian as the rain picked up in spread and force. The charger, annoyed at the proceedings, let his head droop as his hooves squished along. Visibility had reduced even further, almost stopping the two of them in their tracks. With nowhere that could shelter both him and his mount, Sir Gareth saw no alternative but to continue. The road lay straight and true ahead, so progress had to be better than staying still. One way or another, he and Lucian would be home soon, where they could dry off and warm up. If they simply put their heads down and moved forward, it would be sooner rather than later – an appealing thought. Sir Gareth squirmed uncomfortably as water dripped down the back of his neck.

                The next moment, the knight found himself shaken from his irritable reverie. Lucian had, for some reason, stumbled quite suddenly to the left. Shaking his head and grumbling a string of mightily unchivalrous curses, Sir Gareth pulled back on the reins, steadying the animal. What on Earth had caused his sure-footed charger to do that? He looked round, searching for the rock or fallen branch that should be the probable cause. A knight of the realm should move such an obstruction so that His Majesty’s good people had safe roads to traverse! Unable to see the ground clearly through the rain, Sir Gareth dismounted to get a closer look. Yes, he did observe, it seemed Lucian had seen the same strange, dark shape he now beheld. Still holding the reins, he leaned down for a closer look at the mysterious object. It looked like a soggy heap of old rags.

                “Oh!” exclaimed the knight, drawing back abruptly and startling his horse. “Oh my…”

                Upon that inspection, he did find the odd pile to have a face and hands! He released the reins, trusting Lucian to remain near, and then bent to his knee. Carefully, he pushed back the thick hood and a handful of sodden, dark tangles from a surprisingly pretty young maiden’s face. Even in the barely-present moonlight, he could see the dark skin and aquiline features of a Gypsy. At his first touch, she did not stir. He whispered a quick prayer for forgiveness and checked as decently as he could that she still drew breath. Indeed, the Gypsy maiden produced a small, pained sound at being moved slightly, but did not open her eyes. Ever so gently, Sir Gareth lid his arms round her, lifting her close to him.

                “Dear maid, if you can hear me,” he began softly with his lips beside her ear. “Do give me some sign…”

                She gave none in voice, but did try to lift her head from his supporting palm. Her eyes remained closed, the image a sad one with her face still spattered in rain, mud, and tears. Unable to take the small motion as proper indication, Sir Gareth shifted her in his arms and tried again.

                “Please, my lady,” he asked rather than commanded. “If my voice does reach you, let me know it. Show me some way to help you.”

                This time, what could only be described as an uncertain pout, furrowing her brow delicately, stole across the maiden’s features. Breathing rather heavily, she blinked in obvious confusion once, twice, and then opened her eyes to gaze upon the newcomer’s face. The next moment, Sir Gareth saw the overt panic in the young lady’s eyes before she began to struggle against him. Though she did speak at first, he could not understand her words. They had the distinct note of protest, though – he held her fast, determined to assess the situation fully.

                “I’ve done no wrong, I swear it!” the Gypsy insisted, still attempting ineffectually to shove him away from her. “In mercy’s name, let me go!”

                With one hand, Sir Gareth caught her chin in a gentle but unyielding grip, making her to look up at him – for a moment, he found himself struck by her beautiful eyes!

                “In faith, maiden, I have not accused you,” he informed her, his voice firm but his countenance one of kindness. “Tell me if you will how you have come to grief in such a place as this?”

                For a moment, those sparkling eyes searched his face in open mistrust. Though he did not exactly smile, she saw nothing threatening there. She opened her mouth to begin, but turned aside with a harsh cough instead. With that movement, Sir Gareth could see what he could swear to be a bruise blossoming on her cheek. Using the hand that had held her chin, he traced the blemish with careful, gloved fingertips. Without a word from her, he could make a decent wager on what had happened.

                “Who had the gall to mark your pretty face in this way?” he all but demanded, barely able to keep his tone from waxing hot. “None but scum could do this to a lady.”

                The Gypsy girl in his arms did once again gaze up at him as if bewildered.

                “Why do you do this, Sir Knight?” she inquired with caution in her low voice. “Surely you have mistaken me for the likes of one better?”

                She then turned her gaze and looked away, unable to bring herself to meet his eyes. Sir Gareth, far from scandalized by her, did feel deeply wounded by her words. Cupping her bruised cheek tenderly with the soft leather glove covering his palm, he smiled at her. This expression lit his face with such nobility and sadness that it nearly brought tears back to her eyes!

                “My dear, I would be derelict in keeping to my oath of chivalry should I treat any woman as beneath my notice or unworthy of my protection,” he told her, his cerulean eyes shining on hers with the light of truth. “You need not fear this night, for you are under the protection of Sir Gareth, Prince of Idlewild. And, if I may ask, what are you called, dear maiden?”

                Still not smiling, openly considering if she might as yet be dreaming, the Gypsy girl simply stared up at him a long moment more.

                “Sir, I am known only as MariaRosa,” she introduced herself, her eyes now shyly downcast. “I thank you for your kindness, good sir.”

                Sir Gareth nodded his acknowledgement, finding the sound of her voice to be pleasing, so low and soft. Beside them, Lucian stamped impatient hooves on the mud-slicked road and snorted loudly through his nose.  Instead of helping MariaRosa to her feet, the knight simply arose from his knee and lifted her with him. Whether by his strength or her slight build, he could not tell, but she seemed to weigh nothing in his arms. Her hood fell back and almost a full meter of tangled wet hair tumbled free. Carefully, he set her upon Lucian’s saddle and mounted once more behind her. Likely out of exhaustion, she curled easily against his chest, her cheek pressed upon the warm leather there.

                “As we ride, do tell me,” the knight began again. “How came you to this trouble? I have seen to it myself that this road is safe as houses. Tell me true – who has done you this wrong?”

                MariaRosa looked away into the rain-fogged trees as if somewhat ashamed of herself.

                “Marauders,” she intoned so quietly he nearly could not hear her. “In the tea parlor… where I work…”

                Her voice trailed off with a small choking noise, but Sir Gareth urged her to continue.

                “Without your tale, the villains cannot be brought to justice,” he encouraged her, one arm around her and one hand guiding Lucian’s reins. “And if it is within my power, I shall see said justice done.”

                A good compromise for her seemed to be pulling her hood back over her face – she could give her information without having to look at him.

                “They came after what coin we had,” she went on, her voice shaking. “But coin could not satisfy the lust of such beasts.”

                She began to cry quietly and the arm around her tightened, the knight offering what comfort he could. Sir Gareth felt his blood boil with holy rage. When he got to the bottom of this, his vengeance would be blessed by His Majesty and by God on high! For many long moments, MariaRosa could not compose herself, her tiny body shaking against him. Suppressing a tirade containing many words not befitting a knight of the realm, he whispered words of comfort. This did seem to reach the Gypsy and she straightened up. Still shaking, she took a deep breath. One did not need otherworldly gifts to see something inside her needing to get out. She bent her head so that he could not even see her face beneath her hood.

                “My honor was compromised in the attack, good sir,” she admitted in the smallest voice he had ever truly heard another human being to possess. “May God forgive me...”

                Her tears had stopped, but her head bowed forward still. The pain she felt had apparently gone beyond that which could be healed by weeping. Sir Gareth’s chivalrous heart did ache for her, and in that same heart, he vowed to God above that he would avenge her honor! Trusting his mount to keep true, he bend his head to be sure she met his eyes, holding her with gentle strength.

                “In faith, dear maid, it is through no fault of your own,” he reassured with every possible note of sincerity in his voice. “On the virtue of our noble Queen, I do declare it to be so.”

                MariaRosa froze in his grip and for a moment it seemed she might become hysterical, but she did not. Instead, a small, thin hand featuring incredibly long, pointed fingernails emerged from the folds of her cloak. Trembling, it tipped the hood back off her head, revealing a smile so rare it quite nearly struck him breathless! Tears shone like diamonds in her eyes, moonlight reflecting almost eerily off of them. Something about the fullness of her lower lip, quivering as she smiled, did tug at his heartstrings. For a brief moment, Sir Gareth let down his wall of knightly stoicism, his own smile radiant for her.

                “Truly, Sir Gareth, the realm does need more knights so noble as you,” MariaRosa’s low, almost reverent voice caressed his ears. “You are a credit to Their Majesties in your honor and kindness.”

                If he were any less honorable and chaste than MariaRosa had so eagerly professed, Sir Gareth could have kissed her for praising him so highly! Instead, he embraced her tightly with the arm he still had round her, still smiling against the hood of her cloak. Though she stiffened almost-uncomfortably at first, the Gypsy girl nestled contentedly against him. In a deep-voiced whisper, he thanked her kindly for her sweet words. This time, when she bent her head to hide her face, he could swear he saw the merest hint of a blush!

                As the three – Sir Gareth, MariaRosa, and Lucian – continued their journey on through the rainy night, the storm crashed on. The wind started coming in from a new corner, causing sheets of rain to smack into them from all sides. The summery feeling of earlier fled in the face of fierce northerly gusts. Though chilled through beneath his armor, Sir Gareth behaved as though the cold could not touch him. MariaRosa had tucked her cloak round her and now rested her head quite comfortably against his chest. If Lucian noticed the addition of her ever-so-slight weight, he gave no outward sign. The storm raged as they kept going towards Idlewild.


End file.
